the contradiction of you and i
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: Bianca & Marissa POVs :: Continuation of 'a new perspective on storms' :: Introspection. Conflict. Sex & love. :: Minx
1. Chapter 1

**Ideas run rampant. And listening to good music helps, too. Not sure how long this will be or how often I will update it… but here you go.**

/

Whispers and looks, joy and heartache; former impulses and used-to-be moments…

Some people forget those kinds of things; they put them away like mementos from another lifetime. Some people just throw those kinds of things away to begin with; seconds and minutes and hours forever lost because all that time never meant much anyway. Some people walk away with a clear head and an untouched heart, grateful for the lesson but with no desire to continuing learning. Some people wake up and find a new existence waiting for them; another chance all polished to a shine as they slept and as they allowed other dreams to pass on by.

Marissa is not like that.

At least, she isn't like that all the time.

/

_She made it to Ireland. _

_She made it even further than that, too. _

_All that money saved, checks upon checks set aside to gather dust, was spent in an attempt to help Marissa find herself instead of constantly running away from herself. _

_And so there she was – on the soft stone cliffs of England, along the streets of Rome after midnight, with sand sticking to her feet as she stood at the edge of the Aegean Sea. There she was, downing shots with strangers around the alcohol-soaked bars of Germany. There she was, finding lips on her own – men as well as women – as another year begins in another country other than the one she was born into; dancing to music she couldn't hardly understand the words to because those lyrics did not ask the all-important question that is "where is your restroom?" There she was, staring out the window of another apartment-like hotel room as another sun rose up in another unblemished sky as another night slipped away from her grasp._

/

There are a couple of years she has let go of, that much is true – aspects of college, terrible days of terrible work, a handful of nights where sorrow made a home in her soul. There are swatches of months that she has shoved back – summers without smiles, autumns without laughter – and, eventually, those memories become as faded as photographs locked away.

But Marissa can still look into a mirror and still see a girl on a bench, sandwiched between a mother and father, with church bells ringing like a heavenly choir in the background. Marissa can still catch her reflection as she moves past a store window and notice that her hand is still slightly open, just waiting for a little blond-haired boy to latch onto her fingers.

/

_For all her searching, though, all Marissa seemed to find is a brand-new version of escaping; a shiny new way to take flight._

_For all her looking, Marissa never could figure out what she was supposed to be seeing; for all her traveling, Marissa still woke up every morning in the same place – staring at the ceiling, sheets cold against her skin, and wondering if all her roaming ways were actually going to lead her anywhere at all…_

…_wondering just how much longer she can stand to run and still call it progress…_

/

Marissa can still watch the rain fall and, suddenly, there are phantom touches along her skin; suddenly there is a fire racing through her veins and the recollection of sweet kisses that just about ruined her for anyone else. Each drop that falls, sinking into the ground or darkening the concrete, carries her back to that other city – with the thunder, with the lights off, with the heat of want, with that all-too brief sensation of finding the one person in the whole of the world that would be worth keeping.

/

…_wondering just how much longer she can press her lips to strangers and still want to taste another person lingering there…_

/

Some people forget those kinds of things; ignore them with ease or replace them with something or someone else.

Marissa is not like that, though.

At least, she isn't like that all the time.

At least, she isn't like that when it comes to Bianca Montgomery.

/

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Like this part so much more than Marissa's. I have my reasons. Anyway, hope you like.**

/

She didn't mean to stay here.

But things happen; children want to stay later and later at her sister's house. Or Erica, in all her self-centered but still caring glory, hands over the keys to a new house like others pass along phone messages. Or it is the eyes of all the women at the Miranda Center, saying a million thank-you's when their voices dry up, holding onto her hands like she is some kind of savior.

Still, she didn't mean to stay here; in Pine Valley, where every step of her past is laid out like tattoos only she can see – where she once fell in love, where she confessed secrets, where she was wounded, where she once brought down the blood from another – hundreds of beautiful and bittersweet ink trails that only she can follow, that only she can find.

That's all Pine Valley could ever offer her and she wanted no part of it.

But Miranda likes having a family around, likes having friends that remember her name and say it in English, likes the big grins that greet her as she opens any and every door in this town. And Gabby, while still young enough to adjust to a whole new world, seems to light up whenever Miranda does – and so Gabby is always smiling, always giggling, always wandering around after the older sibling with endless curiosity and joy.

So, Bianca didn't mean to stay here.

But what one means to do and what one does usually ends up being quite different.

/

_She cradled Gabby to her first, waking the little girl up from sleep for a just a few moments and then those soft brown eyes slid shut again – head sagging onto Bianca's chest._

_And then Bianca wept for the first time since all of this began; she cried for the Reese she once loved and she cried for the Reese she left behind. She shed her tears in the darkness of a bedroom, not wanting to show off this sorrow to her mother or anyone else. Then she went to Miranda, opting to sit down beside the bed and she reached out to gently run her hand over the girl's messy hair – strands of playful brunette strewn all over the pillow. Bianca moved quickly, pressing a kiss to the child's forehead and lingered there as long as she could stand it, as long as she could before she started to cry once more._

_The hall of her mother's home was thankfully empty when Bianca stepped back into it._

_And the bed that welcomed Bianca to her new and unknown life was empty, too._

/

And she has learned to like Pine Valley again; she has learned to not look at places with memories attached and internally fall apart. She has figured out how to not become stifled by the steamroller way her family likes to love – the dinner parties that inevitably go wrong, the drama that unfolds with alarming frequency, the need to start a fight with any possible enemy.

She has learned to focus on the happiness of her children, putting this ambition above all others she may have once had. She doesn't dwell on what could have been, not anymore. She doesn't look to the skies and wish for a plane to take her away.

Bianca keeps her gaze on the ground.

/

_She couldn't sleep, though._

_She turned right and then left; she threw the sheets off and then pulled them back up. She found a tear or two winding their way down her face and wiped them away with anger. She stared at the darkness around her and felt trapped by everything her life had become._

_Of course, she would pull it all together soon enough; this wasn't a sign of how she would feel forever._

_She would be the strong one again… She had to be, for her girls and for her family and for…_

_Bianca closed her eyes suddenly, squeezing them shut with force._

_And there, behind the curtain, came all those new images made in Mexico City._

_And there, in Bianca's hidden thoughts, came a bit of peace in a time of chaos._

/

So, when she is asked out by someone – a woman working at the Miranda Center as a lawyer – Bianca sees no harm in going out on a date. She doesn't foresee anything earth-shattering. She doesn't look into Sienna's eyes and see a walk down the aisle.

In fact, Bianca isn't even sure she would want to marry again.

She'd rather watch Miranda enjoy school or camp or eating chili-fries while watching a movie; she'd rather tickle Gabby until the girl is laughing so hard her stomach hurts. She'd rather kiss her mother's cheek and rolls her eyes at another scheme; she rather share a meal with Kendall and listen to whatever new tale of romance that her sister has going on.

Bianca would rather casually date someone then wish for anything more than that.

Sienna doesn't seem to mind this arrangement. They go to the ballet and to art gallery openings; they have dinner and talk politics or films or various causes. They kiss and it is not fireworks – but it is nice, it is warm instead of hot, it is comfortable without working at it and Bianca has learned that there is something to be said for things just being 'alright'.

And when Sienna touches her, Bianca doesn't feel like she is drowning in emotion. It feels good; they reach a climax and their spines stiffen and they both smile at one another as things come to a close. Sienna stays over that night and Bianca sleeps because her body is sated, is tired.

/

_She fell into slumber with a lullaby of Marissa Tasker running through her head; of a caress along her lower back or a breath exhaled against her lips. There, in her dreams, they keep kissing and they keep touching and they keep going until nothing is left but the two of them._

_And Bianca shouldn't want it all back so much, shouldn't want to disappear within that fantasy when reality waits outside the door._

_But just like children who do not see the weeping, no one is around to see Bianca indulge in all she cannot have._

/

Sienna sleeps soundly and so does Bianca.

Bianca sleeps but she doesn't dream.

/

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

**You guys are being really kind with your reviews; thank you. **

/

Bianca has found a sort of rhythm within Pine Valley now; she goes up and down with the waves, she rolls into situations and then rolls right back out of them again. Her children are thriving and the rest of Bianca's family is happy to have the three of them close by. Sienna isn't asking for more than Bianca is willing to give, content to go out once in a while and sleep together sometimes and then go home much later. Bianca finally feels like she is back in control – of her life, of herself.

Marissa was actually glad to be back in Mexico City, to kick up her heels on her tiny balcony that overlooks the street below and take a deep pull off of a cold beer. She checks that pile of messages on her computer, ticking off clients she doesn't want and writing down the numbers of those clients she does want. Some friends welcome her back with a night on the town and it feels good to settle back in, to halt those attempts at self-reflection and just be Marissa Tasker again – a good lawyer who is beholden to no one.

/

But you cannot really control life – life just happens to you. And you cannot be an island forever – no matter how removed you try to become.

/

Marissa stares at the envelope for a long time before opening it.

But there, in a young and rapid scrawl, is a paragraph or two of A.J.'s life. After all this time, there is A.J. Chandler – front and center in written form, stumbling over the spelling in some places as he talks about how he is now in the fourth grade and how he is good at playing soccer; he talks about how much fun he had at summer camp; he talks about how he'd like to see her for his birthday and that 'Dad' said it would be okay.

A.J. ends the letter with an '_I love you_' and '_I miss you_'.

Marissa thinks she should have kept on traveling around Europe; she should have kept on acting like this day would never come and should have found a way to stop caring about a child that was never hers to begin with. Because A.J. belongs to a dead sibling, to the original daughter, to the wife that J.R. really did adore. Because Marissa was just a substitute for the real thing, wasn't she? That's what she tells herself, day-in and day-out – just the stand in, just the copy. And when that make-believe world in Pennsylvania came falling down, Marissa stepped back like she knew she must.

She did some of her best running then, too. She left Pine Valley as if there were wings upon her feet.

Marissa stares at the letter, though. She reads between the lines and looks at that piece of paper for so long that her vision becomes blurry. That's just her tears, though. She's just crying; crying like it is the first time she has ever felt sorrow – even though that is far from the truth.

This isn't her first reminder of what has been lost, after all.

And it has been almost two years since Marissa has seen A.J.'s face. She thought he would have forgotten by now; she maybe even hoped that he would forget her – wash her away from his mind like waves smooth out the sand once more. Maybe he would have kept her memory like a toy stuffed away, something he used to enjoy and was now gathering dust – no longer needed, no longer serving a point.

It wouldn't be the first time she has been erased, after all.

But it's been almost two years since she has seen A.J.'s smile and, with this letter held fast in her hand, Marissa realizes that it has been almost two years too long.

/

Bianca hears the conversation that is going on around her but she really isn't a part of it.

Then again, double-dates were never her thing – not even in those closeted days of high school when everyone fell into group events in order to ease the tension of attraction. All those other girls worried about impressing the boys, letting hands wander far beyond 'first base'; all Bianca used to worry about was not getting caught with her eyes where they shouldn't have been – too long on a track star's legs, too focused on a laughing face as it passed her in the hallway.

Kendall is attentive to her date – some new doctor in town – but her sisterly glance keeps darting over to Bianca, then to Sienna, and then back to the doctor once more. Bianca holds back the urge to roll her eyes; it is just Kendall being Kendall, after all. It is just Kendall expressing silent concern over the fact that anyone with half a brain can see that Bianca Montgomery is not that invested in this date tonight.

Then again, being invested in romance is no longer her thing – in spite of all the days that came before where Bianca would have thrown herself onto the alter of love like some kind of sacrificial lamb. She used to believe in relationships long after the most faithful would give up; she used to continually seek out forever-after like others would search for air to breathe or for shelter from the elements.

Kendall can sense it; maybe others have picked up on this change in her, too - Bianca just isn't as open as she used to be.

The only exception is with Miranda and Gabby; that is one area of Bianca's life where walls do not exist and she remains vulnerable. Otherwise, though, being easily read is not the way Bianca wants to live her life anymore. Because she's gone the long haul route with women so many times. Because she has heard so many promises and has slept with those words as much as she has lain with lovers. Because she wore a ring and watched it turn to rust against her skin.

_Because I am tired of falling with no end in sight._

Sienna says something in that gentle voice of hers, getting up out of her chair and placing a soft kiss to Bianca's cheek. Bianca smiles automatically in response. Kendall tries to get Bianca's attention with another pointed look but that look is just ignored; all those questions will have to wait until Bianca is ready to answer them. And Bianca tells herself that this is what it's like to finally take charge of her world; to command instead of follow when it comes to her heart.

Bianca tells herself that this is what it's like to finally be safe.

/

Safety arrives in so many guises, though – in distance (by countries, by degrees), in actions (don't get too close, don't stick around), in the things that a person can say when they are afraid of saying too much…

_He isn't really my son, so walking away is for the best, right? We didn't really love each other so this was inevitable, wasn't it?_

…in the things that a person can say when they are afraid of saying anything at all…

_This is just for one night. This is just a moment. This is just right now and nothing more._

The pretense always falls away, though.

And we are left hoping that what was said will be enough to protect ourselves in the end.

/

Marissa finds the air getting trapped in her lungs as she takes the first steps off that plane, each stride taking her further from that cocoon created in Mexico City and terrifyingly closer to all that she left behind in Pine Valley.

Bianca kisses Sienna good-night, shoving away the sense of hollowness that rushes in afterwards; Bianca kisses her girls good-night, clinging to their innocent bravery like a woman drowning. And all those answers she isn't ready to give just seem to mock her from within.

/

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**I almost had them meet in this part but it just did not 'flow' correctly to me. Goodness knows how this story will go; I just write it, I am not in control of it, though. Anyway. Hope you like.**

/

_Do I really deserve to be forgiven? How can a child ever absolve all that I cannot forget? _

/

She almost turns around and leaves.

It would certainly be easier to pretend the flight got cancelled or she became suddenly ill. It wouldn't be the right thing to do, Marissa knows this - but leaving before she truly arrives could possibly save her from what might happen once she steps through that door; from what might happen once she is seen and cannot just vanish into thin air.

As a lawyer, Marissa is good about staying within the parameters of the law – no toes over the line, no facts that cannot be verified, no lying when that palm touches the bible. As a person, though, Marissa is much too good at being loose with right and wrong; she is adept at stretching the truth if it will spare her some form of pain.

It's why she didn't want to get close to Krystal or David.

It's why she never loved J.R. like she vowed to.

It's why she left Pine Valley in the middle of the night.

And so she almost turns around; she almost leaves before her hand can freeze upon the door knob to Krystal's restaurant. Marissa almost decides to bury that letter from A.J., to hide it away amongst the many other bits and baubles that she wants so desperately to forget – pictures of parents long gone, stories from some other child who was left behind. She almost believes that to walk away again would keep them all from making more mistakes with each other.

Marissa almost buys these lines she is trying to sell to herself, too.

But then she sees A.J. through the panes of glass, one foot tucked under his body as he sits at a table and a mop-top of blond hair falling into his eyes as his head tilts downward, and Marissa's doubting thoughts grind to a halt.

Marissa sees the boy that she has so sorely missed and her resolve to save herself before all others just crumbles into a million pieces.

The door that Marissa once shut is thrust open again when A.J.'s eyes find her standing there; as caught as she has ever been, like a frightened animal framed by headlights.

And so all those tantalizing escape routes disappear.

/

_Will I ever be anything other than weary with emotion? How do I explain away the emptiness I feel inside?_

/

Kendall is nothing if not tenacious.

And tenacity is a quality that Kendall must have been born with; the woman has that certain something that occurs when you must fight from the very start - that intangible but ultimately necessary ability to hold on when the world spins out of control. Kendall will always be a survivor because she never gives up; she keeps battling even when, maybe, she should not.

Bianca was not born with this quality; it was eventually forced into her, though. It wasn't cultivated out of choice but rather dragged up by the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole – with every bite of food she made herself eat, with every second of her 'coming out', with the morning after Michael Cambias, with picking up and moving on after every heartbreak.

Kendall struggles onward because she still believes there is better ahead; Bianca keeps going because she has become used to this endless war.

Bianca isn't sure she has actually survived at all.

Bianca isn't sure about a lot of things these days – and it shows.

"You know you can talk to me about anything."

That's how Kendall starts things off the next day as the Fusion offices become less and less populated by employees. That's the invitation that Kendall extends and, once upon a time, Bianca would have leapt at those words without a second thought. But the changes that this latest trial in Bianca's life has wrought are hard-pressed to be moved and so she turns a weak excuse of a smile onto her sister.

"Pretty wild weather we are having lately, hmm?"

Kendall's heavy sigh says more than any sentence could convey.

"Bianca—"  
>"Kendall, there is nothing to talk about."<br>"How long are you going to keep me in the dark, Binks? Because I know something is wrong with you."

Of course, Kendall is right; of course, something is terribly wrong but if Bianca cannot figure out the way to fix things, then how can anyone else? Her sister's eyes are imploring with their obvious caring; they are begging Bianca for entrance and it is so tempting to just give in…

…but not nearly tempting enough.

"I've got a date with Sienna this evening, so I really need to get going. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Another cheap smile. Another quick walk away from any sort of admission.

Another leg of this never-ending march that Bianca cannot seem to abandon.

/

_But maybe I am wrong; maybe it will all work out, in the end…_

/

Marissa can feel J.R.'s stare against the side of her face as she sits down.

On the one hand, the sensation of J.R. watching her like a hawk is mildly annoying and she wants to turn that coolness back onto him; she wants to give as good as she gets, just like old times. And yet, on the other hand, she cannot fault J.R. for feeling protective. He might have been the one to step outside of the rules when it came to their marriage but Marissa was the one who cut the ties to A.J. as if it meant nothing at all.

So, to say that she is surprised that J.R. remains across the room – arms crossed over his chest and blue eyes unblinking in their singular focus – is a bit of an understatement. But she'd almost welcome the man's intrusion at this point because she has no idea what to say to the boy before her. She isn't sure what to do with her arms; they want to reach out and they want to gather A.J. up and they want to never let go again. She isn't sure what to do with her nervous gaze; eyes that want to sink to the floor in shame but eyes that also want to run over every freckle and every faded cut that this borrowed son now carries.

And Marissa isn't sure how to be the adult right now; she is left floundering under the self-judgment that never truly goes away. It is the wave of regret that keeps her quiet; a shadowy torrent that rolls over her mind and her heart with a deadly intent. This feeling is enough to turn any attempt at reconciliation into just more wreckage upon her shore; this feeling is enough to keep Marissa tongue tied for the rest of life.

Where she struggles, though, A.J. easily soars.

In a gaze too kind and too innocent to have come from the Chandler sitting several tables over, A.J. captures Marissa's attention with an enviable sort of calm. The boy gets up from his chair and, suddenly, she cannot look away from him; the boy lightly crashes into her and, suddenly, her arms know exactly what to do.

"I'm glad you're back, Mom."

And, suddenly, Marissa knows the only words that need to be said in return.

"Me, too, A.J… Me, too."

/

…_But maybe I am wrong; maybe this heart isn't as shattered as I choose to believe…_

/

For all the apathy that threatens to claim her, Bianca sets that burden down whenever she sees Miranda and Gabby.

Parents always hope that their children will turn out better than they have; that the slings and arrows that life likes to throw will not strike those youthful hearts. Parents always try to keep the wolves at bay – where you were hurt, they will never suffer; where you were wounded, they will never bleed. It is this drive to protect that prevents Bianca from completely falling apart; it is this love for her children that stops her from lying down and never getting up again.

Leaning against the doorway to Miranda's bedroom when she should be getting dressed for a date, Bianca watches her daughter. She watches the slow back and forth of Miranda's bare feet as the girl rests on her bed – legs up in the air and crossed at the ankle, stomach pressed firmly into the mattress, and a book in front of very familiar brown eyes. Miranda doesn't even realize she is being looked at since she is so absorbed in whatever fantasy those pages have laid out and this causes Bianca to actually smile.

A real smile; a true smile.

Everything else is in the eye of the storm but not this moment. Everything else is up in the air but this moment will become the ground on which Bianca can stand – if only for a little while, if only for a second or two.

"…Mom?"

Bianca is taken out of her brief reverie by that voice and finds Miranda staring at her curiously. And she should leave her daughter alone, let the girl continue reading; she should be putting on those high-heels and zipping up the back of that dress. Bianca should be preparing for another night of talking that isn't going anywhere and of kisses that feel more like pleasantries.

Instead, though, Bianca walks over to Miranda and sits down beside her daughter. She pulls the girl to her, hugging Miranda as if it were the last time ever; Bianca closes her eyes and inhales the sweet scent of all she still holds dear. Because there is still something good in this world and Bianca tells herself to never forget this fact; because Gabby is just down the hall - watching some silly cartoon and giggling – and Bianca can hear that sound echoing into her very soul.

Because as bad as it sometimes seems, Bianca has this moment to hold on to.

This moment of embracing her daughter, of kissing the top of Miranda's head and suddenly the world isn't as harsh as it once appeared. Oh, Bianca knows things like this do not last forever; children grow up and move away and then one must face all the paths not taken. Bianca will, one day, have to take a long and hard look at the life she is ignoring out of self-preservation.

But for now, this is the moment that saves her.

This is the moment that keeps Bianca from simply fading away.

/

…_maybe there is hope for me yet…_

/

**To Be Continued…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ooh yea, I love to drag it out… Enjoy.**

/

"_Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world… she walks into mine…"_

Oh, but this life is no movie; there isn't some last minute rescue for those caught in dire circumstances and there isn't a guarantee that true love will last out the night.

People make mistakes out here in the real world and those transgressions are not always forgotten – even if they are somehow forgiven. Out here in the real world, hearts get stomped on and that tender muscle doesn't always heal the right way – it'll carry cracks, it'll beat a little slower than before.

It's only in the reels of black-and-white images that happy endings roll forever onward.

Oh, but life is funny kind of game. And the rules keep changing; the rules keep being broken and remade until no one can recognize them anymore.

You might think you are playing to win; you might think you aren't playing at all.

But life has other plans for you.

Like always.

/

Bianca pushes the paperwork away from her tired hands; fingers cramping from the continual motion of signing her name to page after page and then typing up notes on her laptop. And she is staring at nothing at all, caught in the mid-afternoon slump of another day. Her cell-phone rings, revealing Sienna's name across the screen, but Bianca does not answer it today.

They've been dating for a while now. They've been the 'plus one' at so many parties. They've been a warm body between the sheets and a voice across the table.

Today, though… Today, Bianca doesn't have the energy to pretend.

Today, on this seemingly endless afternoon, Bianca feels a little bit like breaking free of the restraints that she has put upon her body; unshackle the wrists and untie the invisible ropes about her ankles. She feels this small, but impatient, stirring in her blood – and that sensation is trying to lure her away from this fabricated existence she is so dedicated to maintain.

Away from fictional happiness and away from practiced features; away from taking the easy route and away from these ancient injuries that compel her to remain so damn stoic… Bianca wishes she could break away from herself.

Today, Bianca wishes – just a little bit – for freedom.

/

And, for today, freedom is just outside the door.

And it is green and lovely.

That's what she thinks as she walks along, catching all the sounds of her surroundings – air through the trees, the soles of her shoes on the dirt, the distant song of some bird. And then it is just green and just lovely; the grass and the leaves and the stem of every blooming flower in this park. It is lush and alive; it is vibrant and cool and gleaming – where the sunlight breaks through, where the heat meets the shade.

That's where a memory finds her, stuck somewhere in the middle of what is and what could have been. That's where Bianca sees a flash of lightning against the rolling of pale hips and that sudden vision is enough to make her insides grow warm; that recollection is enough to make her steps stutter along this manicured path.

"_So… what's your favorite color?"  
>"Well, I guess… I don't know, green… maybe?"<em>

Bianca closes her eyes, as if that will help remove any lingering trace of that night.

But that trick has never worked before; she highly doubts that it will work now.

For Bianca, forgetting that night has never actually been an option – no matter how far she shoves those images away. The specter of that evening in Mexico City is suddenly prominent with this momentary reach for a sense of being set loose from these self-imposed regulations and boundaries.

"…_Are you okay?"  
>"I will be."<em>

So assured in those seconds before Marissa Tasker leaned in close and before their lips met, Bianca truly meant every word that fell from her tongue that night. There was no corner she wanted to huddle in; there wasn't a single excuse tumbling out of her mouth. She didn't have to fake the onslaught of emotions that were rising up to the surface; she only had to give in to them.

Bianca was released that night in Mexico City – like a bird from a rusty cage – and her wings stretched out until Reese and Maggie and every other disappointment was eclipsed. And so she flew so quickly to desire, so swiftly to arms that wanted only her. Marissa didn't know of Bianca's mother, didn't know about the lovers lost, didn't know about the scars that storms still carried for Bianca.

All they knew was want and that is all that needed to be known.

There are minutes, right as she is about to fall asleep, where she wants to find Marissa Tasker again. There are hours, as functions go on much longer than they should, where she wants the power to go out and to see the flicker of candlelight dance over the walls. There are days and nights where the phantom touches seem so real that Bianca has to rein in a breathless gasp; where Bianca has to thrust herself back to the present – even if the present is decidedly bland and blank.

But that is how she has made things in this world; this is the method she has devised in order to survive. No more heart before her head, no more risks with her affections, no more trust in sweet speeches – she'll stick to amicable involvements and keep her sanity intact this time around.

Even if she has to sometimes take a walk in the park; even if she sometimes longs for the sort of reckless abandon that only leads to despair.

Even then, Bianca Montgomery won't break the rules she has so steadfastly set up.

/

Oh, but life is a funny kind of game.

You expect pitches to be straight down the middle; to be right over the plate.

Instead, you get curve balls.

Instead, you get hit in the face.

/

For a second, Bianca's heart stops.

For just a second, she swears that that which has been pushed into the recesses of her mind is suddenly within reach. For just a moment, Bianca stands still and stares – in shock, in wonder – at a face that has never truly left her field of view.

For just a second, Bianca can barely breathe, all that fresh air getting lodged in her throat. For just a moment, she thinks she must be dreaming while being awake – that realities have somehow collided into one another; that the barriers between that night in Mexico City and today have toppled down.

For a second, Bianca is convinced she has conjured up a ghost with her thoughts alone because just a couple hundred feet away is Marissa Tasker – with red hair latching onto shafts of sunlight as it falls into the woman's face, with a full-blown smile upon the woman's mouth, and with a very familiar looking child attached to the woman's arm.

For just a second, Bianca catches a glimpse of everything that is missing from her world…

…and that sucker-punch of a realization is enough to make her run from this park as if her life depends on it.

/

**To Be Continued…**


	6. Chapter 6

**I didn't forget this story. Just been really busy. Is this worth the wait? I hope so.**

/ /

_It's not like I planned on this; it's not like I was looking for it._

/ /

Those are words that work well for a singular time, though. Those are the kind of words that are meant for one night – and one night only.

After that one exception to all the rules, if you say these things to yourself again…

…you are just lying.

But the subconscious mind is a labyrinth; you can go for miles and miles and never reach the end. You will tell yourself that you don't want something but continue to seek that very something out. Like that old cliché – moth to a flame – you beat your wings towards that heat, regardless of the demise to come.

/ /

Of course, Marissa wants to believe that she is smarter than that.

She wants to believe that those moments of sacrificing all for a second of need won't be the deciding factor in her life; that a minute of giving in won't determine every hour after the fact. Marissa may not be the best at facing hard truths – running from Pine Valley proved that; finding refuge in Mexico City solidified the notion. But it is never how one begins, it is the way in which they end – that's what Marissa said to herself as she packed her suitcases. That's the repetitive statement that rolled around Marissa's brain as that flight took her further from safe exile and returned her to the fray. This is the mantra that Marissa inwardly murmurs even now; even as A.J.'s firm grip on her hand carries the two of them along this winding path through this park.

And it was the right move to make, after all, coming back for this child.

Because, this time, it isn't a marriage sought out in an attempt to soothe old wounds; this time, it isn't a matter of history painfully being rewritten – familial faces shifting when lies are finally uncovered. Marissa abandoned ship once before, when those waters no longer turned in the direction she so desired…

…but not this time.

This time, Marissa won't just be all impulse and no thought; this time, Marissa's moves won't live in ancient shadows.

This time, Marissa won't exist just to react.

/ /

_It's not like this was my intention; it's not like I've been thinking of her._

/ /

Awareness is only half the battle, though.

Anyone can realize something about themselves; anyone can read words written so boldly on the wall. It is the ability to actually do something with that knowledge that counts. You can get close to the corner but it means nothing if you do not turn it.

You can say that every step you take is one you choose openly, but is it really? Or are you under the influence of motives that you keep just short of silent – that whisper in the back of your head, that tantalizing voice that only addresses those deep longings?

Anyone can say that something has 'slipped' their mind; anyone can claim a tiny strip of land called ignorance and call it their own.

But don't kid yourself – because you didn't really forget a single thing.

/ /

When A.J. breaks away from her and runs towards a girl further down the path, Marissa takes a moment to appreciate that all of this is actually happening. She watches the boy talk animatedly to a friend – his hands gesticulating and his smile so wide – and Mexico City simply fades away; a fog of happiness covers up those crowded streets held within her memories and all she can now see is this blond-haired child.

It's not like Marissa ever thought about having children. It's not like she ever thought about not having children either. Between reading law books and the laying of hands, Marissa did not think too much about a white-picket-fence sort of future. There wasn't some ideal living in her mind; a man with a good heart and a gentle kiss did not rate high on her list of wishes to come true. And so those romantic-comedy daydreams fell short with her; those fantasies were left to languish as she struggled with the stuff of mere mortals – money and stability and loss and heartache.

However, Pine Valley changed the state of play. Suddenly, there was a family she did not know of but that belonged to her. Within those revelations, Marissa found A.J. – a boy without a mother, a boy in need of care…

…and, suddenly, there was a family that she so desperately wanted.

Perhaps she sees some of herself in the boy; perhaps she is hoping that, in loving A.J., she will be able to love herself a little bit more.

A.J. is waving at her now, asking her to come closer, and she could never refuse him. And when he grabs ahold of her hand once more, Marissa knows that the grin on her face is one of the most genuine she will ever show to the world.

"This is my birthday twin, Miranda." A.J. states proudly and the brunette girl nods her head in affirmation. Like slow cogs turning, Marissa tries to recall this girl in front of her – big brown eyes and glossy hair pulled back in a pony-tail – but nothing seems to click. Still, she offers her other hand all the same in introduction.

"Well, it is very nice to meet you, Miranda."

They shake hands like two children playing at being adults; overly formal but with humor belaying the action.

"I was telling A.J. that there's going to be a party next week at my house…"  
>"…And we've been invited so we should go."<br>"There will be ice-cream and cake and games…"  
>"…But there will be other parents there, too, so you won't get bored."<p>

Marissa cannot stop the laughter that rushes out of her mouth after such a display; two kids but one mind. And Marissa wonders – just for a second – why she doesn't already know this girl who is obviously a big part of A.J.'s life. In all the days of her relationship with J.R., Marissa met more than just her 'real' parents in this small Pennsylvania town; she stumbled into crisis after crisis with important family names attached. Not just the spider's web that is the Chandlers, but there was the Martin clan or the Hubbard's'; there was even an acquaintance made in Jackson Montgomery and some wary glances trained onto the man's on-again/off-again romance with Erica Kane.

Marissa met pretty much everyone while she was here; just not this girl, just not A.J.'s "birthday twin".

"Okay, A.J., if your father gives the green light, then we'll go." Marissa responds and there are two equal grins beaming up at her. Someone calls the girl's name and she turns around, waving to a woman and another little girl about a hundred feet away.  
>"Is that your mother, Miranda?" Marissa asks and Miranda shakes her head 'no'.<br>"That's the sitter and my sister, Gabby. Mom's working at the center today."

Marissa nods her head almost idly, but curiosity is sparking up inside and that prompts one more question as the girl starts to run back to her baby-sitter and her sibling.

"And what's your mother's name?" Marissa calls out.

Miranda looks back over her shoulder, a happy smile in place as she answers.

"Bianca Montgomery."

/ /

_It's not like I've imagined your touch; it's not like I've awakened from dreams of you and had to catch my breath. Life goes on, right? And we weren't meant for anything more than what we had – a day, an evening, a kiss or two, a warm hand as a storm raged._

_It's not like we were more than that – a client, a job, a happenstance on a rainy night. Because we were not about promises; we were not about dating and getting to know one another, not really. All the questions you asked and all the answers I gave, that was just a game we were playing… wasn't it?_

_All to pass the time, all to ease ourselves into something that we both wanted; all the better to hear you with and all the better to see you with… just like a nursery rhyme._

_It's not like I ever thought about finding you after you left._

_And yet…_

/ /

The name rattles around Marissa's body like a pinball, crashing into places that are as near to the surface as they are removed from sight.

The name drowns out all other sounds for a moment, even the sound of A.J. telling her that he is getting hungry and that he wants cookies instead of dinner.

The name conjures up a collection of sensory-based memories – of heat against a thigh, of a pleading moan, of sweet pressure swirling outward – and Marissa feels the slightest bit of warmth rise along her face.

And Marissa would swear on a stack of bibles that coming to Pine Valley had nothing whatsoever to do with Bianca Montgomery…

…but, honestly, Marissa cannot tell if that is the truth – the whole truth – or not.

/ /

**To Be Continued…**


	7. Chapter 7

**I know, I know… It's not much for a return update but I am rusty with this fic. Give me time & I'll get up to snuff. So to speak.**

/

There are children running around the house and then spilling out into the yard. There is the smell of candles blown out and of melting wax onto too sweet frosting. There is the murmur of adult conversation – some of it kind, some of it cutting – amidst the various shouts and the raucous laughter of kids on a sugar high.

There is Erica Kane, dressed far too formally for a little girl's birthday, alternating between playing co-host – all practiced smiles for the other mothers – and moving cups of punch off of every hardwood table top. And there's Kendall leaning against the wall, shifting her gaze between Spike as he shoves another cupcake into his eager mouth - giggling with artificial blue coating his lips - and the rest of the room.

There are balloons and there are smiles and there are a million other things that Bianca could choose to focus on right now.

But all she can manage to truly see is the woman standing less than fifty feet away.

In fact, it takes effort for Bianca to look away from this woman, to blink and bring her attention to another point – a plate of half-eaten pizza or a little boy from Miranda's class or…

…_anything, I'll take anything else, please…_

Inevitably, though, Bianca winds up right where she started from.

_And that, right there, is the story of my entire life… isn't it?_

Inevitably, Bianca looks across the room and sees Marissa Tasker; Marissa Tasker, right where she should not be at all – in Pine Valley and in a sundress instead of in Mexico and…

…_do not go there, Montgomery…_

And Bianca's memory is much too sharp, much too vivid, and so she turns away – again – and dives into another glass of punch.

And she really wishes this punch was something harder.

But really, Bianca wishes for everyone in this room to disappear, everyone except for Marissa. Bianca wishes for time to go backwards, maybe thirty minutes or so; right to the moment when she heard a knock on the door, right to the moment when she opened that door to find Marissa on the other side.

_I really wish this wasn't happening._

Because Bianca has been doing just fine, living to get by, and the last thing she wants is someone that could complicate this stability she has finally found. She is making a home for her girls and she is dating a nice woman and she's got the Miranda Center for all the hours left behind; she has put frivolous whims into the past and she is not falling head-long into impulses anymore.

Bianca has played the victim to love and lust one too many times.

_And I won't do it again. I won't, I won't, I won't…_

And still, she glances over at Marissa and the woman is looking right back; Marissa is looking right back with a mixture of apologies, apprehension and some other feeling that Bianca really wishes she could not see in those blue eyes.

And still, she remembers so many things she shouldn't and those recollections seem to rest heavily on Marissa's brow - _mouths meant for kissing, hands meant for grasping_ - and so they share a secret intimacy that wants to overshadow this well-planned party.

Marissa Tasker's presence could easily overshadow everything.

And Bianca is not sure when her feet begin to move. Bianca is not sure at what speed she navigates her way past mingling parents and nosy neighbors to get to where Marissa stands, completely motionless.

Bianca isn't sure of a damn thing except…

…_I can't let this happen to me again._

Stubbornness is a horrible trait within Bianca's DNA, handed down from mother to daughter, and it is a disposition that becomes harder to shake as the years go by. Every new emotional breakdown only strengthens the resolve to never be vulnerable again – to protect the heart at all costs.

Even if, in the end, it is a terrible mistake to do so.

Marissa's lips start to shift, to move into some sort of grin – one that occurs with familiarity, with fondness, with wishes of its own – and Bianca has to rush to not respond.

And Bianca swallows down all the things she could say – that she might want to say, if this were any other day and if this were any other life but her own – and speaks the only words that she can.

"We need to talk. Now."

/

**To Be Continued…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Like riding a bike. Thank goodness. Hope all of you agree.**

/

There is the part of your mind that knows the right thing to do.

It is that part of the mind that tells you to stay at work late – even if you want to go on home and get some sleep; it is that part of the mind that tells you to not eat another piece of cake – even if the taste of chocolate on your tongue is still so tempting.

It is that 'right thing to do' mindset that urges you to pack up your things, to lock up your office doors and to return to the scene of your most recent crime – even if you fear that this child won't forgive you, that this town won't want you back, and that this particular idea is your worst one yet.

But you were never a shark in those dark waters, no matter the days where you bared your teeth and tried to intimidate the world with your shiny nonchalance…

…You were always going to do the right thing.

Eventually.

/

Marissa holds her breath for a long time, trying to look so completely collected as A.J. leads her through the door and into this house bursting with children.

Marissa holds her breath to the point of passing out – and then she sees Bianca.

And all the air rushes right out of Marissa's body.

_She looks really lovely._

And that thought alone is almost enough to cause Marissa to turn back around and leave immediately. Because, from the minute Miranda – A.J.'s pretty little birthday twin – said the name 'Bianca Montgomery' aloud, Marissa has debated and doubted every reason for coming back to Pine Valley.

Because, from the very second she heard that name again, Marissa hasn't been able to get the woman out of her head. Or, rather, it has been a reel-to-reel of tantalizing images of the woman that has been stuck in permanent loop within Marissa's brain.

_And it's not like those thoughts will make this party uncomfortable or anything…_

Marissa sighs and tries to find something for her hands to do; she tries to occupy her eyes with anything other than staring at Bianca – and she fails more times than she succeeds.

Marissa sighs – again – and badgers her own sense of appropriateness with stern warnings: _stop looking, stop wanting to look, this is not the time or the place… there is no time or place for this…_

Marissa tells herself, over and over, to do the right thing.

/

But there is that other part of your mind, too.

And that other part of the mind wants for the sake of wanting, craves for the pleasure of craving. This other part of the mind exhales decadence and lives off of selfish desires.

'Right' and 'wrong' take on decidedly gray tones in this part of the mind.

It is this part of the mind that tells you to leave by night and never come back – even if you hurt someone in the process; it is this part of the mind that tells you to run in order to save yourself from pain – even if your damn feet hurt, even if the road just wears you down.

It is this gray part of your mind that tells you that this woman standing so close, with eyes so dark and with a voice so controlled, is only a touch away…

…and you could bridge that gap oh so easily.

You could do that and never look back.

/

Marissa is holding her breath again.

It kind of hurts to do so, but she cannot seem to have any other reaction to all of this; it is as if she were jumping into the deep end of a pool and her body just keeps going down, down, down…

"Why are you here?"

Marissa allows her lungs to deflate at the question, though, and opts for a humorous response - not because she is feeling particularly amused but to sidestep the increasing sense of awkwardness that is going on between herself and Bianca Montgomery.

"In the grand scheme of things or in Pine Valley? Because if you are asking about the first one, I'll need a couple drinks before I can get all philosophical."

Bianca's face, however, registers very little mirth with Marissa's answer and so she forestalls whatever Bianca might say with the real reason.

Or, at the very least, the only reason that Marissa is willing to acknowledge.

"I'm here for A.J Chandler."

Those dark eyes narrow in confusion at Marissa's words.

"How do you even know A.J. Chandler?" Bianca asks and Marissa cannot prevent a soft laugh from leaving her mouth.  
>"You want the long story or the not-so-long story?"<br>"I'd prefer the cliff-note version actually."

Some kids come running by at that moment, chasing each other around with fake swords and with very real screaming, and suddenly the rest of the party returns to Marissa's focus. And there are other adults milling about the yard now, the yard that Bianca wordlessly guided Marissa to for this conversation that has not reached anywhere of substance yet.

And then Marissa catches sight of A.J., blond head thrown back in innocent laughter - and suddenly Bianca's request feels too difficult to accomplish; it feels too personal for someone that Marissa has only known for one whole day to ask for the boiled down version of what is really endless chapters of a complicated life.

So, Marissa settles for a middle-of-the-road rendition of events.

At least until she is ready to share every sordid detail and troublesome benchmark.

At least until the face opposite of her is less suspicious and more understanding, less hardened and more…

…_more like I remember, more like it was next to candlelight…_

But those kinds of thoughts are certainly not the 'right' thoughts to be thinking and Marissa quickly pushes them to the farthest reaches of her brain, buried with hundreds of other thoughts that she believes best to keep away from the light of day.

"I am a part of A.J.'s family and I just wanted to see him. I've been gone for a while."

Bianca seems to study Marissa's face, as if looking for lies that only she can find, and the arms that the woman has crossed over her chest appear to lose some of their rigidness as that firm gaze flutters to the left and down to the grass beneath their feet.

Marissa even catches sight of a small, rueful-looking grin along Bianca's mouth.

"I knew you were lying." Bianca murmurs with a slight shake of her head.  
>"I'm not sure I know what—"Marissa starts to reply but Bianca interrupts her with a look more so than the words that follow.<br>"When I was down in…," And Bianca's eyes glance around ever so subtly, gauging who is near enough to hear this conversation, then the woman lowers her voice as she continues, "…when you and I met, you asked where I would be living and when I said Pine Valley, your whole attitude changed."

Marissa blinks several times, recalling with hazy vagueness a tiny moment in that office in Mexico, and all she can do is utter a blank sort of 'Oh' in response.

"I knew then that you were lying to me but I wanted to get things over with quickly and I didn't think I'd be seeing you again so…" Bianca allows her voice to trail off at that point and Marissa nods her head in understanding.

"So you let it go."  
>"Exactly."<p>

For the first time since Marissa walked in the door with A.J. attached to her hand, the two women truly look at one another – and not in a covert way, not with wariness or with emotions completely on pins-and-needles.

Something in Marissa's body grows impossibly warm at the same time that some of that ice melts around Bianca's stare and this heavy tug-of-war between the two of them could have carried on until something quite inevitable (_and quite inappropriate, too_) would have happened… But there are louder voices floating out into the yard now, filled with giggling and birthday frivolity.

And it is as if they are one person instead of two as they look away from each other in tandem, quick to appear unaffected to anyone who might take notice.

"…So you are not here for anything to do with me… right?" Bianca asks quietly, her inquiry nearly lost amidst all the other sounds around them both.

But Marissa heard the woman loud and clear.

And even if Marissa isn't totally sure of all the reasons for being back in Pine Valley, for being in a town that Bianca Montgomery calls home, she knows better than to try and explain the maze of her mind today.

_I know right thing to do, the only thing to do…_

Marissa raises one eyebrow and fixes Bianca Montgomery with a look of bemused disbelief.

"That's some ego you've got going on there, you know?"

And Bianca rolls her eyes, albeit good-naturedly, and then runs a hand through her hair in a move that has been designed to cover up embarrassment.

Marissa kind of hates that she finds the action endearing.

"Right. I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is… Of course you being here has nothing to do with me and I shouldn't be putting you through the Spanish inquisition either."  
>"Anyone would think you are the lawyer instead of that being my job…"<p>

But Marissa says this with a smile and Bianca returns the gesture.

"I am sorry."  
>"Stop apologizing."<p>

Bianca's smile becomes a bit more broad in that moment, a bit more friendly.

"Okay, fine. No more apologies."

And Marissa uses every single ounce of her willpower to force away the sensation of happiness that wants to bubble up in her own body at the sight of a pleased Bianca Montgomery. Because Marissa isn't ready to investigate these feelings, to figure out their meaning and to see where they may – or may not – go.

Marissa can only jump head-first out of so many windows before something important will break when she hits the ground.

_And this is one window I am not ready to bust through._

Someone calls Bianca's name and that officially ends their conversation, the two of them slowly drifting from one another – Marissa to A.J.'s comforting side and Bianca to a whole host of company.

But there is something in Bianca's eyes, something that tells Marissa that whatever they have left to say will come out sooner rather than later – even if they are not truly ready to speak of things better left in the darkness of Mexico, things better left against bed-sheets and within the smoke trails of a night that neither of them can seem to forget.

/

**To Be Continued…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Was listening to Neko Case's 'I Wish I Was The Moon' and all I heard was 'Bianca'.**

/

It has only been three days, but – somehow – it feels like years since she last saw Marissa's face and Bianca is uncomfortable with those all-too-familiar feelings that want to attack her wounded heart.

_I am getting too old for this._

Bianca steadies her feet first, remembering that the ground is real and so is the door knob she is turning and so are the voices of the people grabbing lunch from Krystal's. Reality is just this: Pine Valley on a Monday, busy and bustling, filled up with family and friends and names she cannot recall.

And it's only been three days since Miranda's birthday party, only three days since A.J. Chandler waltzed into Bianca's home with a red-headed woman holding his tiny hand, only three days since Marissa Tasker walked – wide-eyed and slightly stunned – back into Bianca's life.

_But… somehow… it feels like years ago, doesn't it?_

Rationally, Bianca knows that that night in Mexico might as well have been years ago. It was some other woman, after all, who hopped onto that plane and signed those papers. It was some other woman who needed to hide away her marital shame and her sense of failure, trusting a stranger south of the border with the end of her world.

It was some other woman who sought out shelter from the storm and it was some other woman who found that safety in Marissa Tasker's embrace.

Rationally, Bianca knows that the woman she is right now – mother, daughter, divorcee – is a million miles away from that other woman.

But Bianca's heart, battered as it is, still skips a beat when Marissa looks her way and their eyes meet (_briefly, cautiously, and oh so timidly_).

And Bianca silently curses the pieces of her soul that insist on holding out forever with endless hope.

/

"Hey."  
>"Hi."<p>

Bianca fights back with stubbornness. It is the only weapon she's got left, having lost all the others over time and within too many wars to count.

"I, uh, well… I'd like to talk with you, sometime, just to let you know why I am here."  
>"Thought you were here for A.J.?"<p>

Bianca fights back with blindness. It is the only method she can think of, having seen too much over the years and baring witness to too many traps but not heeding the warning signs.

"I mean, the whole story about A.J. and me… and just everything. I just wanted you to know everything, to know that it really doesn't have to do with you or anything like that…"  
>"It's okay. I believed you at the party. You don't have to tell me more than that."<p>

Bianca fights back with coldness. It is survival of the fittest, survival of the toughest. And Kendall might have been born with fists swinging, but that doesn't mean that Bianca Montgomery cannot throw a punch or two – if shoved into a corner, if trapped by unruly emotions, if she is afraid of what could happen if her guard is let down.

But Marissa sighs, heavy and annoyed, and Bianca almost gives in again.

She almost feels like some other woman again, untethered and drifting into Marissa's lips and into Marissa's hands and into a moment of bliss quite unlike any other.

"So, that's how it's going to be then, hmm? You'll ignore me until I go away?"

Marissa's voice is low, an undercurrent in a sea of other sounds, but it is still hard and it is still hurt and Bianca doesn't want any of this. She wants Marissa to be in Mexico. She wants Marissa to be in her dreams. She doesn't want to look up and into those eyes and feel things she cannot feel.

Bianca doesn't want to know about the circumstances that have brought Marissa to Pine Valley, doesn't want to involve herself in this person's life any more than she must, doesn't want to learn secrets and grow closer and discover that she has already fallen right as the ground slams into her bones.

Bianca just wants to exist and keep her damn feet on the ground.

"Fine. Have it your way."

And the words on this newspaper do not make sense anymore. And the tea tastes too sweet when she takes a sip. And the food tastes bland upon her tongue, chewed and swallowed without noticing.

And Bianca watches anyway, against all better judgment, as Marissa walks out the door – overhead bell ringing happily up above the lawyer's head – and, god, it feels like years ago instead of days; it feels like years ago that Bianca rattled out an orgasm into Marissa's mouth and something formed between them while they were not looking.

But Bianca is determined to win this fight, determined to do things right this time – not by her heart, but by her head.

/

And still, it feels like years since she last saw Marissa's face.

And still, it feels like it has been even longer than that.

/

**To Be Continued…**


	10. Chapter 10

**So this totally went in a different direction than I thought. However, it went in the right direction.**

/

You knew this would be hard.

Turning around and facing the past is always difficult. Turning around and retracing your steps until you reach the start once more – back to the beginning of all your running…

…These kinds of things are not for the faint of heart, after all.

And so you knew it would be hard.

You knew that this course of action – feet firmly planted atop Pine Valley soil again – would either push you to be better than you've allowed yourself to be…

…Or you'd never change at all.

But you knew that this would be hard, that this would be terrifying, that this would be the most defining moment of the rest of your life.

You knew all of this…

/

…_and that's why I almost didn't come back here at all, right?_

/

"Sounds like those wheels are spinnin' pretty hard over there…"

Krystal's voice cuts into Marissa's thoughts, severing the intent of those mental ropes, and Marissa sighs into a bite of her food before reminding herself to pay attention to the present.

"Sorry. I don't know what's up with me today. Can't seem to get out of my head for too long."

Marissa follows up this comment with a roll of her eyes and a small smile. Krystal reaches out, touch tentative but still somehow sure, to rub a hand lightly over Marissa's back.

And it is a touch that conjures up memories of comfort, memories from some childhood that Marissa doesn't necessarily wants to think about right now. But Marissa schools her reaction, emitting a soft 'thanks' as Krystal slowly slides her hand away.

It's an odd thing for a person to feel like they are still getting to know their own mother; it's an odd thing to try and understand the ins and outs of this human being that gave birth to a child – but gave that child away, it's an odd thing to take note of David's sly smile or of weary frown against Krystal's mouth…

…_And to see those expressions mirrored within my own face._

Marissa isn't sure she has handled this part of her life that well either.

She didn't just leave A.J. behind when she slipped away in the night. She didn't just cut all ties to J.R. and to his desperate philandering and to the new woman he wanted to build a wall around.

Marissa took a knife to these new parents, too, and treated them as part of the disease.

And yet here they are – mother and daughter, side by side, eating in a park - trying to figure out how to reach across the distance as best they can. It'll be a touch, it'll be a grin, and it'll be another hundred meals between the two of them until they either get it right or stop trying all-together.

"I'm a pretty good listener, if you want to talk about things."

And that's the thing: Marissa wants to talk about about everything – things she has yet to utter before and things she has probably said once upon a time, too. But tucked away in her easily distracted brain is yesterday; there is yesterday and the urge to divulge her life story to someone who she knew for only one night, someone she held for only one second – _a lifetime in a single breath…_

And so, suddenly, 'everything' seems like a whole hell of a lot to say to just anyone.

_But being quiet isn't doing me any good either, is it?_

"I knew it wouldn't be easy, you know, to come back here and try to fix things but I guess I didn't realize just how not-easy it would actually be… "

Marissa trails off at the end of that statement, flicking her tired gaze over to Krystal. The other woman just smiles at her, though, with a whole world of knowing written across her face.

"Oh honey, I think I wrote that song."

A chuckle sort of bursts out of Marissa's mouth unexpectedly and, like a balloon losing air, the tension slowly deflates around them.

"Well, if you'd like to share the lyrics with me, so I know what's coming up next? That would be great."

And Krystal's smile widens and that hand is on Marissa's back again and it doesn't feel as odd as it did only moments ago. It feels like someone trying to be there for her and Marissa doesn't want to shove another person away – _like I am prone to do_ – so she tells her muscles to relax and accept.

"If I knew those words ahead of time, I wouldn't have made half the mistakes I have in this life."

But Krystal says this with a rueful shake of her head, as if the years have been unkind, and Marissa supposes that – in some ways – they have been exactly like that. Caught between a rock and a hard place, the woman sitting beside of Marissa has had to make decisions that no one wants to face. And Marissa does get it because she has stood upon that precipice several times as well. And maybe the choices made were not the best, not in the long run, but crying over spilt milk is just a waste of energy… isn't it?

At least, that's what Marissa tells herself.

And she suspects that Krystal repeats the same syllables, day in and day out, just to get along with all that's been done but cannot be forgotten.

"Is it J.R.?"

There's Krystal's voice again, attempting to draw Marissa further out, and so food is left behind in a quest to satisfy a deeper hunger, to satisfy this appetite for disclosure.

"Oh, no… Not really. I mean, he's being… well, he is being typical J.R. Suspicious and a bit of an asshole, but that's how I remember him to be anyway."

They both share an amused glance with one another at that comment for it is common knowledge in the realm of Pine Valley that J.R. Chandler – much like his father before him – isn't the easiest of people to get along with. He is very much a 'my way or the highway' kind of person and Marissa questions her reasons for getting involved with him in the first place.

But, of course, A.J.'s face pops up in her mind and there's the only reason she ever needed.

"How's A.J. handling you being back?"

At this inquiry, Marissa feels the amusement slip away from her lips, leaving only a soft smile behind in its wake.

"He's handling it great. Like really great. I… I think I was worried that, once he saw me again, he'd be angry with me or something… but he hasn't been that way at all. He wants me with him all the time, to meet his friends and to drop him off at school... He still wants me as his mother."

And Marissa didn't mean for that last sentence to come out of her mouth. She didn't mean to turn a chance at conversation into a full confession, didn't mean to reveal the constant worry that she's been carrying ever since she took off for places unknown.

_That he never really needed me, that he never really loved me, that I was never really his mother at all._

"That's because you are his mother, Marissa."

And there are these voices inside of Marissa's head, voices that like to remind her of a sister she never knew and of how she inherited someone else's world – with a husband, a child, and brand new parents – due to the death of the preferred sibling.

_None of this is really yours_, that is what those voices like to say.

_All of this is actually Babe's_, that is what those voices like to say the most.

It isn't until Krystal's hand wraps around her own – warm and strong - that Marissa realizes that she had just been staring off into space, trapped in a never-ending parade with her own demoralizing thoughts. But that hold is so sure, so commanding, that Marissa has to look over at the other woman and there are her own eyes staring right back.

Eyes that know about regret, eyes that know about doubt, eyes that know about all the ways to flee from what is feared…

And it's an odd thing for a person to find a whole other life waiting on their doorstep, all stamped with a dead woman's love and longing. But there in Krystal's gaze is some kind of answer that Marissa has been denying for far too long now, some kind of honesty that has been pushed down repeatedly for the sake of not getting too close so as to avoid getting too hurt.

In those eyes so much like her own, Marissa catches a glimpse of what it means to face the truth.

"You are that boy's mother in every way possible, Marissa, and don't you forget that."

And isn't that the terror that she has been hauling around all this time, from Pine Valley to Mexico and then around the whole damn world? Wasn't it those doubts that kept her feet moving, that kept her heart from opening up again, that kept her from A.J's forgiving embrace for so long?

"Just hold onto that fact and you'll be fine… You hear me?"

/

And you knew it would be hard, coming back to what wasn't made for you – but somehow ended up being yours and yours alone.

You knew it would be hard and you know that it'll probably get harder still.

All those hurdles haven't disappeared just because you've decided to stick around this time, just because you won't allow your mole-hills to turn into full-fledged mountains.

You'll either jump them with grace or stumble to the ground.

And, oh, you knew all of this before you got on that plane, before you read that little boy's letter.

You knew all of these things so very well…

/

…_and that why I had to come back here, isn't it?_

/

Marissa turns her hand over so that she can intertwine her fingers with Krystal's and then she aims a watery grin at the other woman – _at my mother_ – before a reply finally comes tumbling out.

"I hear you loud and clear."

/

**To Be Continued…**


End file.
